Bits and Pieces
by lielabell
Summary: This is a holding area for drabbles and ficbits.  It has just about everything in it.  Yes, that includes slash.  You have been warned.
1. Lie To Me

_Lie to me but do it with sincerity make me listen just for a minute make me think there's some truth in it – Depeche Mode_

"I love you," he said, eyes burning into mine. "I love you and I always will."

And I believed him. With my whole heart, I believed him. I gave him my innocence, but the child who bares his name was not born to me.

"I love you," he whispered, arms holding me close in the dark. "I love you so much I think I will explode from it."

My hands stroked his back and my heart ate up his words.

"I love you," he screamed at me as I walked towards the door. "How can you leave me? Don't you know that I'll die without you?"

I didn't stop. I knew he was desperate, using the only weapon he had left. But my heart broke just the same.

"I love you," he said between stolen kisses, pressing me hard against the rough brick wall. "You're mine," he said a second before I pulled away.

My arms ached from where he had gripped them and my lips felt bruised, but those hurts were nothing compared to the one his words left in my heart.

"I love you," he said to the girl in his arms, looking at her the way I thought he only looked at me. "I love everything about you."

I watched as she melted into his embrace, wondering if she felt a tenth of what I did when he said those words to me. I stood there, poised at the top of the steps, wanting to run to him, wanting to claim him as my own.

He touched her cheek, smiling down at her with a look so tender that I wanted to scream.

I eased back, not wanting him to know that I was there, that my world had come undone. I took a cautious step back, gingerly placing my weight on the top step. But the wood creaked and he glanced up, catching my eye.

He pressed her face against his chest, turning her head so she wouldn't see me as well, and softly stroked her hair.

"I love you,' he said and his voice broke, but he never lost contact with my eyes.

* * *

A.N.: This is meant to be Spot/Race from Race's POV 


	2. So Happy

_I said, and said, and said those words. I said them. But I lied them. –Dr. Seuss_

"I'm so happy for you, Sarah," he said with a smile on his face. She smiled back, eyes brimming with tears.

"I'm happy too," she said, glancing down at the ring on her finger. "Happier then I ever thought possible." She threw her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. "Thank you so much, Davey. If it wasn't for you I never would have met him."

He kissed her back, somehow managing to say all the right words.

"I'm glad you are marrying her," he said in response to Jack's question, his lips twisting to form a smile. "Now you'll be part of the family."

Jack slapped him on the back, a goofy grin on his face. "She's everything to me, you know that right? And I'll treat her like she's a queen. I'll give her everything she ever wanted and more."

David leaned against the rail, his eyes on the horizon. "I'm happy to hear that," he answered, then tried not to listen to the rest of what his friend is saying.

"She was such a beautiful bride," his mother said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "And have you ever seen such a lovely wedding?"

"Never," his father replied, patting his wife's back.

"Never," Les echoed, in between bites of cake.

"They looked just like we did when we were married," Ester sniffed, putting her hand on top of her husband's. "So in love."

"They have their whole lives in front of them," Mayer agreed.

"They'll be happy together," David said because he felt like he had to say something and couldn't think of anything else. "They'll be happy and I wish nothing but the best for them."


	3. War and The Yellow Kid

_Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again.-__ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

Specs lay across his bunk, raised his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day. It had been a very long week. With nothing to at the end of it but pay off his debt to Kloppman and pretend that he didn't mind having nothing to eat. Again. He frowned up at the top bunk, wondering what he was going to do. Money was tight. And it didn't seem like that was going to change any time soon. Not with the headlines being what they were.

He put his hand up to the curve between his neck and shoulder and squeezed, trying to loosen the tight muscles. His stomach growled and he resolutely ignored it. He flipped onto his belly and shoved his arms under his pillow. His left hand hit something hard and he jerked it back, cursing. He reached into the pillowcase and removed the offending object. Specs smiled in spite of himself when he saw it.

He sat up, crossing his legs, and pulled the battered cigar box into his lap, brushing his fingers gently across the top of it. The faded picture of the Yellow Kid smiled up at him, his shirt proudly proclaimed that the box was full of 'me offishal segar wot I does me tricks wit' looking the exact same as he did in the papes. Specs felt a rush of nostalgia as he traced the lettering burned into the wooden lid, wishing he could go back in time as easily as he could open the top. He scratched his chin and glanced around the room. It was empty except for Skittery, who was asleep if his snores where anything to go by.

Reassured, Specs flipped open the box and carefully removed the folded bits of newsprint. He smoothed out one on the bed and saw the familiar image of Hogan's Alley _Fourth Ward Brownies.__ The_ tattered piece was first comic The World had ever printed He squinted at the smeared caption and wished that he had taken better care of the comic. He would have if he had known back then what it represented. It was small, only one column by two inches, but it marked the beginning of the best years of his life.

He opened up a second scrap of paper and felt himself grin. An odd reaction, it might seem, to the picture of the twisted, burnt wreckage of the _Maine, _but any newsie who had been around back then would do the same. Specs rested his chin on his hand and traced the image with one of his fingers. What a time it had been. Three to four editions a day and each one sold faster then the last. He didn't even need to think up an angle. All he had to do was yell "Remember the _Maine!_ To hell with Spain" and watch as the papes vanished.

On days when The Yellow Kid graced the front of the pape, which was a good three times a week at the height of it, he didn't even have to do that much. The first time The World had printed a batch with the Kid's gap tooth grin and patent yellow nightshirt he had sold out in under an hour. And things were so good that he didn't even bother to go back for more.

The war and The Yellow Kid had made Specs life easy.

Jack could go on all he wanted about how headlines didn't sell papes but just saying a thing wasn't enough to make it true. Having an angle made it possible to ride out the bad headlines and kept things running smooth with the good. But when something dragged on and on the way the trolley strike was, well a newsies could only do so much.

And if you invented a little more then you ought when selling you could end up with a crowd full of angry costumers demanding their money back. That had happened only once to Specs and he was damned sure it would never happen again. He frowned as he refolded the papers and set each one back into the box.

The Yellow Kid was long gone now and the war was over. It wasn't likely that either would be coming back anytime soon. And those easy times where the papes sold themselves and he never went hungry were gone as well and just as likely to return as the events that brought them on.


	4. A Life Well Lived

_Where there's life there's got__ to be hope –The Stone Roses_

Les settles himself into the arm chair and smiles at the children sitting around him, their eyes wide with excitement.

"Tell us a story," they plead.

"A story?" he says, rubbing his chin and pretending to stare off into the distance. "I don't know about that. It's almost time to be cutting the pie and I'm sure that none of you want to miss that. Not for a story from an old fella like me."

"But we do!" they protest, the youngest one nodding her head so violently that he thinks it just might fall off.

"If you're sure," he says, letting his voice trail off as he scopes up the little girl into his lap and tweakes her nose. She giggles, and then burrows her cheek into his chest. He drops a kiss onto her head and then grins at the other children, who jostle each other, trying to get a better seat. "Well, now, what sort of story do you want to hear?"

"A true story," says Frank, he's nearly twelve now and only interested in facts and figures. A lot like his father at that age.

"A romantic story," Julie begs, ignoring the boos and protestations of the boys.

"An adventure story, like Davey Crockett," Danny says, his eyes gleaming beneath his coon skin cap.

Les scratches at his ear and thinks about the many things he could tell them. His days standing around the docks hoping to be picked to work that day during the Great Depression, that would fulfill Frank's request, but was a bit too depressing for a happy family holiday. Or maybe the story of how he first meet his Sally, the woman he had happily spent his life with. But Sally was gone now and even though she had passed on nearly five years ago he still wasn't comfortable talking about her. It just made him remember and all he wanted to do now was forget.

Adventures. He's had more then his share. Going to war did that for a man. Still, none of those stories were the sort that he felt like telling to the group of fresh faced children in front of him. Let them live without knowing the horrors man can inflict upon his own kind for as long as possible, he thinks to himself as he smiles.

He had seen so many things in his life. Things he never could have imagined as a child. Subways, cars, radios, television. Things his own children don't even see as the wonders they are. Things this new generation would no doubt be unable to live without. He'd seen women in dresses that reached their ankles and corsets laced so tight that his hands could circle around their waists. And only a few years after that they had on silk stocking and hemlines well above the knee. He'd seen times filled with feast and year upon year of famine. His life had encompassed so much, but for all he had seen and done there was still one moment that stood clear above all the rest in his mind.

He smiles down at the children, eyes glinting, and says, "When I was no older then you are now, Edward, I saw something that made me believe that I could do anything."

Edward gives him a wide smile in return, showing the gaps where his two front teeth ought to be. "When you took on the World!" he says, proud to know where the story was going.

"With Great Uncle Jack," Frank put in.

"And Great Uncle David," Danny added.

"Yes, with them," Les answers hesitantly. He worries about the pair of them what with the way things were going these days. The world was a much less forgiving place then it once had been. Things no one seemed to mind in the twenties could get a man all but tarred and feathered in the fifties. But then, they were both so old now. Surely no one would pry into the affairs of a pair of octogenarians. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and says, "And your Great Aunt Sarah, as well," winking at his granddaughters.

They giggle and Penny says, "There were girl newsies, too," with a smirk for the male members of the family.

Danny rolls his eyes, "Girls."

"We wouldn't have won without them," Les chids.

"I wish I was a newsie!" Danny says, bouncing in his spot, completely ignoring his grandfather's admonition. "It would have been so much fun."

Les shook his head at that. It had been fun, in its way. Walking the streets, selling papers and getting into as much trouble as he possibly could. But it wasn't the life he wanted for own children, let alone his grandchildren. It had been a hard life, one filled with dirt and poverty. It took as easily as it gave and more then one child had ended his life without anyone to notice or morn.

"You would have been a great newsie," he says, happy in the knowledge that none of his decedents will ever have to suffer through that kind of a life. "Move at least a thousand papes a week."

"I don't want to be a newsie," Julia sniffs. "I want to be the First Lady."

Les tries to hide his smile and says, "You can be anything you want to be, my dear. But if that is the case then you had better marry a very ambitious man."

"Children, it's time for desert," Bess calls out, walking into the room. She gives her father a kiss on the cheek and rests her hand on his shoulder. "I should have known you would be in here. No doubt filling their heads full of tails about your glory days."

He pats her hand. "Let an old man have his moment in the sun, child."

She clicks her tongue. "Child, honestly. I'm nearly thirty, father."

"And look exactly the same as you did at sixteen."

She rolls her eyes. "Alright, children, you heard me. Into the dinning room with you."

They left in a cacophony and Les watches them with a fond smile. It was a fine legacy to leave. Three sons, two daughters and their assorted offspring. He was content. His was a life well lived. So good that even the hardest parts of it could be turned into happy fantasies and given as a gift to the sweet innocence of pampered youth.

* * *

A.N. This is me attempting to do something other than angst. It's set in 1957, not that the date matters but it might help to put some things in context. 


	5. It Isn't This

_And maybe I don't know what love is but it isn't this. No, it isn't this. – Tara MacLean_

Sweet mother of god, he's sitting next to me. I know it's crazy and that something as simple as that should have no affect on me at all, but it does. Dear god, it does. He's there, so close that I hardly have to move to touch him, smiling at me. _Smiling_ at _me_. And what do I do? Shift away from him and stare out the window. That's what.

My heart is beating so loud I'm amazed he can't hear it. God, he is so close. If I just move my leg a tad to the right it will brush up against his. His hand is resting an inch from mine. How easy would it be to reach for the sugar and accidentally touch it?

And his hair. It's right there, in front of me, begging to be touched.

Hair that I have spent far too much time fantasizing about. Hair that I want to bunch my hands in. Hair that I want to see spread out across my lap, hiding things that I try so hard not to think about.

Will it feel as soft as it looks? My fingers twitch and I scowl, ignoring the fact that he just said hello. What, does he honestly expect an answer? Can't he tell that I can't so much as look at him for fear that I'll stare? If I can't even look at him, how the hell am I suppose to answer him?

It's all I can do to keep from touching him.

I'm pathetic. There is no other way to describe it. He's just a boy. Not even that pretty, when you actually think about it. He's got terrible teeth. And his hair, that hair that I want so desperately to touch, looks like it hasn't been washed in a month. What's wrong with me? Why do I react the way I do?

He's not smiling now and I know it is my fault, but I just keep glaring at the table like it's done me a personal harm.

I glance up quickly, because I simply can't resist, and our eyes meet. I want to tell him… God. Nothing. I want to tell him nothing. Because this isn't right and he won't want me anyway and all these stupid feelings and emotions are better then the ones I'll have when he tells me to piss off. Which is what he will do. What any normal boy would do.

Jack's talking to me now, as if I can in any way focus on Jack when _he_ is the booth right next to me with his leg almost touching mine.

"Right," I say because Jack's giving me that look of his and I have to say something.

He leans over, peering into my eyes. "You alright?" he asks.

"Fine. Perfect. Better than I have been in years," I blurt out. It's the truth. Because Specs is there. Next to me. And as he reaches for his food his arm actually rubs against mine.

I'm in heaven. Or make that Hell. Hell, because I jerk away. Hell, because I stand up. Hell, because I shoot him a filthy look before I walk away, pretending that his touch was something disgusting. Pretending that I didn't want to be anywhere near him. Pretending that I wasn't ready to burst from the sheer joy of accidental contact.

What is wrong with me? Why can't I be normal? I just want… I just want to be like everyone else. I just want… God. I just want him. Here. Now. Holding me close as we kiss. Smiling at me. Touching me. Telling me he wants me too.

"Dutchy, wait!"

I turn around and there he is, hurrying towards me like something out of a dream.

"What?"

"I just want," he stops, panting. His face is red from running and he bends over to catch his breath, resting his arms on his knees. "Look, I'm sorry," he says, straightening up.

"For what?" I ask more harshly then I intend.

"I don't know, for making you leave?"

"You didn't," I say trying to make it not sound like a lie. I left because of him. I always leave because of him. But it's not his fault. It's mine and if he doesn't understand it, well that's just fine because neither do I.

He steps closer, hesitantly, and I don't think that I can take any more apologies. "Leave me alone," I say, turning my back on him.

"Dutchy, what's wrong?"

I shake my head, not knowing what to say and suddenly feel his hand on my shoulder. I bite my lip and close my eyes, pulling away so fast that I almost fall over. I whirl around and hiss, "Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me."

"I don't understand," he says, his face full of doubt and confusion. "Why aren't you my friend anymore?"

Something inside of me snaps at the anguish in his eyes and for a moment I hate him almost as much as I hate myself. "Just go away," I say because I can't take another moment of this.

"Tell me what I did wrong," he says and I feel my heart breaking.

I want to touch him so badly that I have to ball up my hands to keep from doing it. I want to touch and taste and tease. I want him so much that I am shaking. And he wants to know what he did wrong. So I laugh and let everything I never say echo through it.


	6. Kissin' Valentino

_I was kissin' Valentino by a crystal blue Italian stream - The Bangles_

"We're not going and that's final."

"But Blink, it's the last time I'll ever get to see him."

"You won't see him, Mush. You'll see a box. And I'm betting you won't even get close enough to see that."

"Blink, how can you be so unfeeling?" Mush said, crossing his arms. Blink lifted one shoulder and said nothing. "I have to go," Mush said, voice breaking. "I absolutely have to go."

Blink rolled his eye. "No, you don't."

"It's _Valentino_, Blink. _Valentino_. I've seen all of his work. I have cut pictures of him from all the society papers. I've even subscribed to his fan club. How can I possibly miss his funeral?"

"You're in your forties, Mush. You might want to act like it," Blink said slowly, not at all swayed by his lover's arguments. "And telling me about how much you adore him is not going to endear me to your cause."

"You aren't still jealous, are you?" Mush said, concerned.

Blink shook his head. "Of a dead man? No."

"Then why won't you let me go?"

"I never said that you couldn't attend. I only said that we, as in me, will not be."

"Why don't you want to go?"

"I don't like Valentino," Blink said with a shrug.

"How can you not like him?" Mush said with a confused look. Blink gave Mush a hard stare, of which he was oblivious. "He's an Adonis! Did you see him in The Sheik?"

"You know I did. It was you, after all, who dragged me to it. Three times. The first week it was out. That's seventy five cents I'll never see again."

Mush smiled dreamily, missing Blink's sarcastic tone. "He was to die for in that one."

"Yes, I already know how you feel about it. You did go out and buy the costume."

"For Halloween," Mush protested.

"And then you made me wear it to bed."

"I thought it would be fun."

"Which it was. Until you called me Rudi."

"That was an accident," Mush said, flushing.

"So, no, I don't like him and I'll be damned if I'll go to his funeral."

"You are jealous!"

"I am not."

"And over something that happened five years ago at that."

"You're obsession with him didn't end five year ago," Blink said sourly.

"You have absolutely no reason to be jealous of Rudi Valentino."

Blink gave Mush a cold look. "I'm not going."

"Please."

"No."

"Please," Mush said, wrapping his arms around Blink's waist.

"I said no."

"Please," Mush said again, tucking his head into Blink's shoulder.

Blink sighed. "Why do you even want me to go?"

"Because it wouldn't be the same without you."

Blink rolled his eye. "How can my being there make any difference at all? It's a funeral. For a man you've never even met."

"But I want you there. That way you can share the memory with me."

"The memory?"

"Of how it all ended," Mush said with a sigh. "Please?"

Blink dropped a kiss on Mush's head. "Alright," he said ungenerously. "But only because I want to see for myself that he really is dead."

"I don't see why you feel that way. It's not healthy to have such a determined dislike of a screen personality."

"Is that so?"

Mush nodded, rubbing his cheek against Blink's chest. "You don't know anything about him, aside from what the papers publish, and we are well aware of what sort of rubbish gets printed nowadays."

"So what you are saying is that I shouldn't believe everything I read?"

"Yes."

"And that I shouldn't judge someone based on the roles that they are paid to portray?"

"Of course."

"Then how do you explain the way you reacted to Wallace Reid."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Mush said kissing Blink's neck in a way that normally distracted him.

"Sure you do," Blink said jovially.

"I have nothing against the man."

Blink raised his eyebrows. "That's not how you felt when he died."

"Got what he deserved, the dope fiend," Mush said bitterly.

"Morphine is a legally prescribed drug," Blink said defensively.

"The morphine isn't what killed him," Mush sniffed, but he seemed to remember he was trying to stay on Blink's good side when he said grudgingly, "But if he had been laid to rest in New York, then I would have gone with you to see it done."

Blink snorted. "Sure you would," he said with a smile, "If only to make sure he was in the ground and wouldn't be coming back."

"I'm glad you're coming," Mush said, ignoring the comment.

"How could I not with it meaning so much to you," Blink said.

Mush raised his head and kissed Blink's neck again. "You're some kind of wonderful," Mush said with happy little smile.

"Right back at you," Blink replied with a smile of his own.

* * *

A.N. I was listening to The Bangles and this happened. 


	7. You Don't Know Me

_You've got to work hard, you've got to work hard. If you want anything at all. Nothing comes easy and that's a fact.—Depeche Mode_

Don't talk to me like you know me. Because you don't. You never did. And, god willing, you never will. Yeah, that's right. Laugh. Go on, joke at my expense. Make fun of the old fat guy.

Smile and joke and pay for your papes, then get the hell out of my sight. You're nothing. The lot of you. Nothing. Poor, dirty and ignorant. No prospects for a better future and no one who loves you. So laugh. That's all you got.

Me, I'm somebody. I worked hard all my life and look where it's got me. I'm the one behind the window. I'm the one working in the office with more money in my pocket then you'll make in a month.

I've been here for years. I've watched your type come and go. You can't be a newsie forever and life only gets harder from here on out. So in a couple of years, when you're off breaking your back on the docks or slaving away in some factory, you'll think back on me and wish you had it so easy.

Easy. That's what my life is. I'm comfortable as can be. When I leave this office I go home to my wife and my sweet girls. And when they see me come through that door, their faces just light up. I'm respectable. I've got connections. My sister came to me in hopes of finding a good situation for her boys, and I'll be damned if I didn't do just that.

I gave my nephews decent jobs. Sure, they have to put up with you lot, but work ain't about having a good time. It's about payday and being able to feed your family. It's about being able to hold your head up high, rubbing elbows with the top dogs, and even having enough to spot you lousy brats nickel when your down on your luck.

So go ahead, smirk at me. Call me names. Treat me like I'm trash. You don't know me. And you never will.


	8. In The Still Of The Night

_So before the light hold me again with all of your might in the still of the night The Five Satins_

Mouth presses against mouth, hands skim over a body slick with sweat, across narrow hips and grip warm flesh tight enough to elicit a gasp of pain mixed with pleasure. Ink stained fingers tangle in fine blond hair, tightening as teeth close in around an earlobe. A moan cuts through the silence of the night and is quickly muffled by a rough hand that clamps tightly over dry lips.

"Quiet," the shorter of the pair hisses and nips at the other boy's throat before replacing his hand with his mouth. A back arches and another moan slips out. Punishment is a fisted hand squeezing harder than ever as it slides up the length of the offender. An eye widens, legs spread slightly, as fingers dig into shoulders.

Hands move up, tracing a well worn path up to twist in black curls. With a jerk, a head is pulled back, bright white teeth clamp down and hips twitch in response. A soft chuckle wafts through the air and dark brown eyes snap open. There is a faint curse and the sound of heavy breathing, then a grunt as bodies slid together in a long-familiar pattern.

Movement and pulsating warmth envelope the pair. Teeth scrape over a jutting nipple, hands grasp at shoulders. A body shudders and the other answers it. Two heads bow together, breath mingles and lips brush almost tenderly against each other. Arms wrap around bony bodies, holding tight as hearts slow to regular beats. Brown eyes study green, a mouth curves up in a smile. Hands reach out and damp curls are brushed back. Bodies slip apart and the night regains its stillness.

* * *

A.N: Blinktrack written for cymbalism219


	9. For the Trees

For The Trees

David stood with his arms crossed and a faint scowl on his face, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for Jack to get to the point. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Jack's company, anyone with eyes could see that he did, but he had an enormous amount of homework due tomorrow, as he had told Jack before they started selling, and he just plain didn't have time to waste right now. Not if he wanted to keep his grades up, which was a requirement of his parents' he had to meet if he wanted to keep selling. He thought that Jack understood that. He thought that he had made himself perfectly clear, but obviously that wasn't the case. Not when Jack pulled stunts like this. David sighed, lifted his cap and ran a hand through his hair.

"Jack," he said warningly, cutting into Jack's monologue about the shape of the clouds and what the exact shade of green the grass was, "I thought you said this was important."

"It is, Davey." Jack gave him one of his crooked grins. "I know how busy you are with school and all." He ducked his head and scuffed his toe. "And, as much as it's a bum deal without you around and all, I would never keep you away from your studies. Not without cause."

David laughed a little at the slightly sly, cheeseball grin and shook his head. "Not without cause you say?"

Jack nodded, looking too much like a fella with an ace up his sleeve for David to trust him. David cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing as he watched Jack lock his hands in front of him and rock from heel to toe. Something was definitely up, all right. And odds were whatever it was would cut deeply into the precious little free time David had.

"If this is about getting Spot back for leaving eggs in your boots--" he began but Jack stopped him with an indignant huff.

"Davey, how could you suggest that I would drag you out here over something as trivial as that?"

"Trivial?" David shook his head in disbelief. "That's not what you were saying last night."

A cloud passed over the sun, cooling the air and casting Jack's face into shadow. "Spot's small beans. This is big time."

"Big time?" David made a show of looking around. "What, if you don't mind explaining, could possibly be 'big time' about standing in the middle of Central Park?"

Jack looked at him like a cat who had just sighted a big bowl of cream. "You'll see."

"What sort of an answer is that?" David demanded, his hands coming down to his hips.

"Aw, don't be sour." Jack crossed his arms over his chest and mimicked a pout. "Telling you outright would ruin it."

"You look like Les," David commented, completely unmoved by the hints Jack was dropping as well as the pitiful expression on his face. "And I've got to go."

Jack jumped like he was stung. "You can't!"

David snorted. "Jack, I like spending time with you. Honest. But I've got to get home. Teacher's laying on the work and I haven't had time to study and there's going to be hell to pay if I don't pass muster."

Jack looked around wildly then caught hold of David's arm and tugged him towards a grassy knoll. "This," Jack said importantly, "is one of the best parts of the park. There's a pond down a ways with ducks and you can buy a bag of peanuts to feed 'em, if you want. I always end up eating more than I toss, but it's the thought that counts right?" He paused for breath, dashing down the far side of the knoll towards a stand of trees. "And these are trees, Davey--"

"Oh for the love of," David jerked his arm free. "I know what trees are."

"Sure you do," Jack reassured him. "But have you ever seen any like this before?" He swung his arm up and out, encompassing the large oaks.

David rolled his eyes. "I've lived here my whole life, Jack. Of course I've seen trees like this before." He pushed back his cap and surveyed the scene. "In fact, I think we had a picnic here for Les's birthday, year before last."

Jack deflated at the words, his smile vanishing as his shoulders slumped. "I wanted it to be special," he muttered.

"What to be special?" David asked, for the first time thinking that there might be more to this outing than smarting pride and the need for revenge.

"Nothing." Jack shrugged, a hangdog look on his face. "Not now anyways."

David felt guilty at ruining Jack's surprise, whatever it might have been, and tried to fix things by patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'm sure it still will be."

"Naw," Jack shook his head. "I'll just have to," he paused, his face brightening once more. "That's it!"

Before David could ask what was what, Jack was running pell-mell into the trees. "Jack," David called as he tripped over a root. "Hey Jack, slow down!"

Jack glanced over his shoulder, a grin spread wide across his face. He shortened his stride and reached back, catching hold of David's hand before picking up speed again. "Come on, Davey. I know someplace you haven't seen yet."

David thought about asking what this was all about, but he was running a bit faster than he was use to and he could make better use of his breath by breathing instead of wasting it on questioning Jack. David was panting by the time Jack stopped. He leaned forward with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. After a long moment, he straightened, tugging his shirt into place as he studied the small glade.

"I was right, wasn't I?"

David turned towards Jack, momentarily fascinated by the way dappled sunlight played across his face. "I never even knew this place existed. How did you find it?"

Jack lifted a shoulder. "Had to run for it one day, and when I stopped I was here."

"Had to run for it?" David probed.

"It was raining," Jack gave him a sly look, "and I had to get out of it."

David blinked at him. "It was raining so you ran deeper into the park? How does that make sense?"

"It's a long story." Jack moved to the middle of the open space, standing outside of the trees' shadow.

"I bet." David followed him almost unconsciously.

Jack laughed. "If you're lucky, maybe I'll tell you about it some day."

David's eyebrows rose. "But not today?"

"Naw, that's not why I brought you here."

"Oh?" David licked his lips, suddenly nervous, and glanced around. "Let me guess, more trees?"

Jack stepped closer to him, an unsure look on his face. David reached out a hand halfway to Jack, wanting to reassure him, but not sure how. Jack glanced down at it then smiled. "Naw, not trees," he said as he took it in his own.

David caught his lower lip between his teeth, his heart pounding loud in his ears. He watched as Jack stepped even closer, bringing their joined hands up between them as his other arm went around David's waist. "This," Jack whispered, a moment before his lips brushed against David's.

Startled, David sucked in his breath then let it out in a rush as Jack pulled back to study his face. For a long moment David's brain nattered at him about right and wrong and school books he hadn't even bothered to crack open, then Jack was kissing him again and the last thought David had for a good long ways was that Jack was right, this was big time and the trees most certainly were the best part of Central Park


End file.
